


hit me on my blind side

by cartoonheart



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:16:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27584636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cartoonheart/pseuds/cartoonheart
Summary: There's a sharp intake of breath, followed by shaky exhale. He's nervous. "Mer, don't be mad," he says in a voice that sets her teeth grinding. No good conversation has ever started this way, and in a heartbeat she knows this one isn't about to be an exception.
Relationships: Andrew DeLuca/Meredith Grey, MerLuca
Comments: 15
Kudos: 100





	hit me on my blind side

**Author's Note:**

> I know nothing about medical stuff. Don't @ me!
> 
> This is a result of a [tumblr prompt](https://cartoon-heart.tumblr.com/ask) I received forever ago.
> 
> Prompt: Andrew getting injured on his motorcycle and Meredith saying "I told you so".

It's three in the morning, and Meredith had been dead asleep until her persistently upbeat ringtone jars her awake. She grapples for her phone in the dark, fingernails clawing helplessly at the air until her hand connects with the object vibrating against the flat surface of her bedside table.

She's not on call, so she has no idea who would be phoning her at this time of night. Her eyes squint open, heavy like weights, trying to unscramble the name on the screen.

 _Andrew_.

She grunts groggily as a greeting.

"Mer? Are you there?" His voice crackles down the phone line.

"I'm here, I'm here," she murmurs sleepily, pushing her body upwards in bed and pressing the phone tighter to her ear to hear him better. "What's going on? Why are you ringing me so late? Are you still at work?" She'd kissed him goodbye hours ago, his mournful expression lingering as she left the hospital for the night, while he'd had to stay until the end of his shift. 

Dead air hangs on the other end of the line, before he clears his throat. "Not exactly?"

There's an edge in his voice that presses a surge of adrenaline through her veins, sending her from half asleep to fully alert in moments. A deep frown settles between her eyebrows. "What do you mean, not exactly? Andrew, what's going on? Where are you?"

There's a sharp intake of breath, followed by shaky exhale. He's nervous. "Mer, don't be mad," he says in a voice that sets her teeth grinding. No good conversation has ever started this way, and in a heartbeat she knows this one isn't about to be an exception. She can _hear_ his apprehension down the phone.

" _Andrew_ ," she warns, her patience thinning. Meredith likes to think that she's calm in a crisis but everything about this is so far hurtling her towards a state of anxiety. Her free hand grips tightly around her bed sheets.

"I'm at Seattle Pres," he says quickly, sensing that whatever he has to say is better out than in. The words fall together, a hurried mass of consonants and vowels. "I'm _fine_ ," he adds hastily afterwards. "It's just that..." he trails off again, and Meredith can imagine his face, eyes averted, low and dark.

"Just that?" she presses, leaning over to switch on the lamp, flooding her bedroom with light. Her eyes twinge at the invasion, before snapping over to his side of the bed, sheets untouched. It's not that she expected him tonight, given he was working until the early hours, and would likely crash at his own apartment so he wouldn't wake her. But at the moment his absence feels loud and discomforting, especially given the guilty and distant timbre of his voice.

"I... finished my shift, was heading home and... may have..." a sheepish quality seeps into every syllable before he continues, "...come off my bike?" The last word comes out like a squeak, already anticipating how badly the news is going to land with her.

Meredith explodes without thinking. "You came off your bike?!" she shrieks, launching herself out of bed in one swift movement, feet hitting the floor with such force that she winces. She casts her eyes around for the nearest item of clothing to throw on over her flimsy tank top. "Are you okay? Are you _hurt_?" Logically, Meredith knows things can't be all that bad, given that he's calling her himself, rather than some nameless hospital employee. Rather than the _police_ showing up at her door. She forces that thought out of her brain as quickly as it had slid in. But nevertheless all she can feel is the cold sweat that's broken out all over her skin as she tries to breathe normally.

"Well, I'm not calling you from my coma, if that's what you mean," he replies with a light-hearted chuckle, and really, if she wasn't so relieved she might have contemplated murder for his attempt at humour right now.

As it is, she's not really in the mood. "Andrew! I can't believe you are _joking_ about this right now." 

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he says hurriedly, the contrition in his tone as clear as day. "I promise you, I'm fine. Just a few nasty grazes. And a radius fracture probably."

At that she pauses, half way through awkwardly tugging her left sneaker on with one hand. "What do you mean _probably_?"

Another inhale of his breath echoes down the line. "They haven't x-rayed it quite yet," he answers, and she can imagine the cringe on his face for what comes next. 

"What do you mean they haven't x-rayed it yet? You're a surgeon! They need to x-ray it _now_. Put me on to your doctor!" she demands, as she tugs on her opposite shoe, before launching herself out of her bedroom and down the stairs. The house is quiet, the children and Maggie all still asleep.

"Mer," he says in a calm fashion, which does nothing to calm her at all. "They haven't x-rayed it yet because I insisted that I had to call you first."

Honestly, this man, she thinks with exasperation, as she hunts around for her purse before remembering that she'd thrown it on the kitchen table when she'd got home. Yes, there it is. 

"Andrew!" she scolds once more, as she casts around for her car keys and comes up empty handed. God, now is not the time for her to be losing things. "Are you kidding me right now? You need an x-ray, what are you thinking?" She knows that now probably isn't really the time to tell him off but she can't help herself. Has he no instincts for self-preservation at all?

"I was thinking," he replies and there is no mistaking the amusement in his voice, even when she's already on the edge of rage, "that I didn't think my girlfriend would appreciate getting a phone call in the middle of the night from the hospital saying that her boyfriend had been in an accident." He lets his logic sink in, and Meredith knows he's right. Her mind is programmed to think the worst and he knows her well enough to recognise that. "I thought she'd rather hear it from me, so that she can hear that _I'm okay_." He's so sweetly insistent and he _sounds_ as fine as someone who has just come off a motorcycle could possibly sound. She can feel her heart rate settle a little.

"Fine," she says with reluctant concession, letting his words sink in. "But can you please go and get your x-ray now? I'll be there as soon as I find my god damn keys!" Okay, so maybe she hasn't quite fully calmed down.

His smile is clear even from this distance. "I promise," he says, and Meredith believes him. He might be pretending to be tough, but she knows a likely fracture won't be a painless experience and every minute she's on the phone with him will be another minute that he's not getting the treatment he needs. "And your keys will be in your coat pocket. You always leave them there."

She huffs as she hangs up, and then rolls her eyes when it turns out he's right.

\---

He's still in the emergency room when she arrives, sitting up on a gurney with one hand scrolling through his phone. The other is propped up on a pillow, surrounded by ice packs. The long sleeve of his shirt has been cut to expose his forearm. For someone who has just come off a motorcycle, Andrew looks relatively unperturbed. She's never asked him if this has happened before, and actually, she realises, it's probably best if she doesn't know the answer to that. 

Meredith gives a nod to a few of the doctors there - they know her, and probably know why she's here. As she approaches, Andrew looks up, his face lighting up in a sheepish smile. He looks a little worse for wear, but he's in one piece and that's the most important thing. His motorcycle helmet is sitting at the end of the bed, next to his feet, and Meredith tries not to focus on the scratch marks that now mar the smooth surface. A cold chill runs down her spine.

"Hey," he murmurs as she reaches his bedside. The word sounds the same as it always does, low and satisfied to see her. "You got here fast."

"Well, when your boyfriend calls you from the hospital, you tend not to dawdle," she fires back, enough humour lacing her statement to take the edge off her words.

"Fair point," Andrew replies with good grace, probably realising that he's hardly in a position to argue. He sets his phone down next to him on the bedside, and reaches instead for her hand with his uninjured one. "I promise I'm fine."

She narrows her eyes. "Have you had your x-ray yet?" 

He nods. "Radius fracture, like I said. They'll take me up for a cast shortly." 

"And you've had a head CT?" she questions, feeling a dark curl in her stomach as she says the words, her eyes trying not to be drawn back to the damage to his helmet, and failing. He'd definitely left that part out when he'd called her.

Andrew's gaze follows her own, and he squeezes her hand reassuringly. "Yes. Also fine." He knows what she's really asking, and why she's asking it. There are some things that don't need to be said.

She lets out a low exhale, the vice on her heart releasing ever so slightly. "Okay," she sighs, "okay." Her legs still feel heavy, ripe with shock, and so Meredith allows herself the concession of perching on the edge of his bed and closing her eyes to take a calming breath. 

"Meredith," she hears him say, somewhere behind her closed eyelids. She turns back to look at him. It doesn't take a genius to see the guilt that's now plastered across his handsome face, frown settled deep between his brows. Andrew tries to give her a reassuring smile but it falls a little flat when his gaze traces the plains of her clearly worried face. "It's okay. I'll heal."

She knows he's right, because of course he will. He's young and healthy and has bounced back from far worse. And yet the nagging feeling in the back of her mind won't go away, won't relax even though she can see with her own two eyes that he's totally fine. Ego bruised, no doubt, but there's no denying that he was lucky. _They_ were lucky.

"I told you this would happen," she says lightly, turning away from his guilt-ridden expression. It doesn't feel right to meet his eyes as she says these words, and hates herself a little for saying them in the first place. She's scolding him when he's likely in pain and trying very hard to reassure her that this isn't a big deal. 

"What?" he asks, confused, and Meredith's not sure if he's being obtuse or whether he hasn't heard her.

But as of this second, she's in no mood to mince her words, not now that she knows he's not seriously hurt. Not this time. "Your motorcycle. I told you this would happen." Her gaze stays resolutely on the wall in front of her, tone remaining steady somehow, even though there's more force behind the sentiment this time. 

"Mer," he protests, his hand releasing her own. A second later Meredith feels his palm coming to rest square between her shoulder blades, clearly trying to reassure her. "It was an accident. I wasn't even going that fast. It wasn't even my fault really, it was-"

She's in no mood to hear his excuses.

"-it doesn't matter whose fault it was!" she snaps, cutting across him. She jumps to her feet and spins to face him again. There are shadows under his eyes and now that she really looks, she can see that he's resting his weight on one hip more than the other, that his posture is stiff. "You're not okay. This isn't okay!"

"Mer," he says again softly, but the fight has gone out of him. She knows that there's no reassurance that he can possibly give her that would help right now.

It's a relief when the intern appears, nervous and fumbling, wheeling him away to sort out his cast. There's no suggestion of her going with him, and so she watches him disappear off down the corridor, and wonders whether she should stay put. 

But her nerves are too wracked to settle. So she navigates her way to the nearest source of coffee, and once firmly in hand, makes her way out into the fresh air. It's dark still and cool, but not bitterly so, and Meredith finds a bench to sit on, and tries to unwind the knots of anxiety that have settled somewhere in her chest.

She fires off a quick text to Maggie to let her know what has happened, and to ask her to get the kids ready in the morning. Practicalities done with, Meredith knows she can't escape her flurry of thoughts any longer. 

After all, he's _fine_ , she tells herself once more, letting the coffee burn her tongue, and releasing a shaky breath. He's fine, and one day this will be a stupid story that they wheel out to people after a few drinks. 

But the problem is that he so easily could have not been fine. Because he insists on riding a motorcycle, even though he must surely know it worries her. And although she's never said this to him - not in these exact words - the idea of anything happening to him, is something that she's come to realise is too terrifying for her to even contemplate.

She knows she loves him. And he knows that too.

But up until now, she's never quite grasped the idea of what losing him could mean.

Her phone pings with a text, and it's him. _I'm being discharged. You still here?_

The fact that he's asking her that stabs somewhat, but Meredith understands that how she might have given him that impression. Standing, she throws the remainder of her coffee into the nearest trash bin, and threads her way back to the ER.

He's waiting by the door as she arrives, helmet dangling from his good hand, and a stark white cast now encompassing his opposite arm, held in place by a makeshift sling. He's grasping a bunch of papers, making a show of reading them as she approaches.

"Of course I'm still here," she says, responding to his earlier question, and trying not to make it sound like she's hurt that he asked. By the way one of his eyebrows quirks up, Meredith's pretty sure she's failed. "Let's go," she adds.

Andrew trails half a step behind her to her car, and the air is heavy with tension. Meredith can sense he wants to say something, knows him well enough by now to know the signs, but nothing comes forth, and she tries not to feel disappointed.

She helps him into the passenger side, and even by the stilted way he moves she can tell he's in pain, a low hiss forming from behind his teeth as he settles into place. She climbs silently into the driver's seat.

"Do you want me to take you home?" she asks, starting the car, and easing them out of the car park. The question has a spiteful edge that she doesn't mean it to. Because the reality is that _home_ is a loaded word, and his answer is going to inform whether they're going to move past this disagreement tonight.

"If by home," he says, his head tipped back against the headrest and his eyes closed, "you mean next to you in your bed, then yes please. That's where I want you to take me. If that's okay?" Out of her peripheral vision she sees one of his eyes open to peer over at her, a small smile hopeful on his lips. Meredith accepts his olive branch for what it is.

"Of course it's okay," she replies, with a rushed breath. She doesn't want him to think that she's mad, because she's not - not really. This whole thing has just unsettled her, churned up memories of loss that she pushes to forget every damn day. She gets a sense that Andrew's finally realised that his attempts to downplay this really were never going to work with her.

"Good," he answers, closing both eyes again. He doesn't say another word until they get home.

\--

The extent of his injuries become clearer as she watches him hobble up the stairs, his good hand gripping hard on the bannister to help himself up. Meredith feels a wave of sympathy overcome her, but sensing that Andrew wants to prove his independence, instead busies herself by heading to the kitchen, collecting up water, and painkillers and anything else she thinks he might need.

When she gets to her bedroom, he's sitting on the edge of his side the bed. The blankets on her side are tossed aside, a reminder of her panicked departure. Andrew has managed to kick his shoes off, but seems to have stalled there. 

"Can you help me with my shirt?" he asks as she settles everything down on the bedside table and stands in front of him. Meredith can tell that he hates that he's asking but sees that he has no other choice.

She nods, rather than voicing anything, carefully reaching out for the hem of his shirt and easing it upwards as gently as she can. She's undressed him more times than she can count, but never, _never_ like this. He winces as he raises his arm slightly, and it's only then that Meredith sees the deep purple bruising that's bloomed on the side of his ribcage.

"A-Andrew!" she stutters, falling to her knees in front of him so she can get a closer look. 

"It's fine," he says, even though Meredith can tell by the set of his jaw that he's lying, at least a bit. "They checked it out at the hospital. No internal bleeding, I promise."

She glares up at him, and waits until he gingerly meets her eyes. "You didn't mention _this_ ," she says pointedly, and despite knowing better, her index finger reaches out and traces the colours forming under his skin. He doesn't move as she does. 

"Didn't want to worry you," he answers after a long second, and there is it, that guilt again, heavy in his eyes. Meredith knows, in that second, what he's not saying, and what he's not been saying all evening. He knows what this does to her, and how this brings back things that she wants to forget. He's trying to save her from that.

"Too late for that," she murmurs, slowly getting back on to her feet, and letting her hand drift through his hair. He lets out a deep sigh at the sensation, eyes flickering closed again. "I'm always going to worry about you."

He hums gently in the back of his throat before he answers. "I know." A breath. "I'm sorry about tonight."

"It's okay," she says, trying to tell herself that it really is. "You're fine. It's fine."

As his eyes open again, neck craning up to look at her standing in front of him, Meredith feels the slide of his good palm on the back of her thigh. "It's not fine, Mer. And I'll get rid of the bike."

Meredith can't stop the sharp surprised inhale that she takes. "Andrew," she protests, even though it's half hearted at best. "You love that stupid bike," and tries to ignore the small chuckle of laughter that bursts from him at her choice of words. "You don't need to do that for me."

His eyes shine up at her, deep sincerity etched on every corner of his face. God, she loves him, especially when he looks at her like that. "I know. But I know what it costs you, Mer, when you have to worry about me. And if I can stop you feeling that way, then I will."

"Really?" There's no hiding the hope in her voice.

He nods, resolved. "Of course."

She lets out a slow breath, and knows that there's no point hiding her relieved smile any longer. "Okay," she says, letting her fingers stroke down the nape of his neck, and she feels his shudder as she does. "Thank you."

Andrew doesn't say anything further, and instead just lets his head fall forward, forehead coming to rest against her stomach. Meredith's heart twists again, trying to keep all the love she has for this man from splintering into an embarrassing display. 

"You know I'd do anything for you, right Mer?" he says, words coming out muffled against the fabric of her sweater. She feels the warm exhale of his breath reaching her skin despite her layers. He sounds a little lost, and Meredith wonders if the painkillers they'd given him the ER are finally wearing off.

Gently, she steps back, tipping his head back as she moves. He looks lazily up at her, slightly dazed, and clearly in need of some sleep. 

"I know," she replies, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to his lips - light and gentle, and breaking away when she feels his mouth react beneath her. "Now, let's get you to bed."


End file.
